Page 15 of Never Kiss a Scot
Brock stared at her. “I came to see you…and Rosalind, of course.”
“Of course. I meant, what are you doing in thelibrary.” She slid to the side, escaping him when he rested one palm on the shelf beside her.
“As I said, I came to see you.” He didn’t want her to escape. He reached out and caught the flow of her skirts, just above her bottom, pulling her to a stop. She turned, glancing down at his hand fisted in the fabric. She quirked a brow, challenging him, silently demanding that he let go.
He most certainly wouldn’t do that. He gazed back into her blue eyes, watching a blush slowly unfurl on her cheeks as he moved closer and curled one arm around her waist.
“Is this your favorite color?” he asked, giving her green skirts a playful tug.
“What?” She looked up at him, and her lashes half lowered when she focused on his lips. He knew she was thinking about kissing him, and he wanted to grant that wish, but his sister was right—he needed to know more about her.
“Green, is that your favorite color?”
“I… No, not really.”
“Then what is it?” He cupped her cheek and moved their bodies backward so he had her caged against the wall by the window.
“It’s gold.”
“Gold? Like this?” He slipped his fingers beneath the fine gold chain around her throat until the solitary blue sapphire stone pendant glinted in the light. Her skin felt warm beneath the backs of his knuckles, and for a moment he forgot what they were talking about.
Joanna’s breath hitched a little. “No. Gold like the color of leaves in late October, or the way the sunlight illuminates the leaves just before they fall.”
“Like glittering rain?” he added. He knew just the color she meant, and it was indeed spectacular.
Joanna nodded. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” She lowered her head, another blush flaming her face. “What about you? What’s your favorite color?” She placed a hand on his chest, her elegant fingers moving over the plain ruby-colored silk of his waistcoat.
For a moment he was ashamed that he was not dressed in finer clothes, like the other men here. She must expect a gentleman to look like a gentleman. Right now, he felt like a farmhand in his simple clothes. But he could not afford more. Back home he felt no embarrassment, but here in the fine trappings of Lennox’s Bath house, he felt shame, though he had nothing to be ashamed of. He tensed, ready to step back, but she raised her eyes to his again.
“Brock?” His name upon her lips seemed to ring like a distant bell, giving him peace, clarity.
“Red, like the color of a fox’s coat, that ruddy orange-red.”
She tilted her head as though considering his words.
“That’s a lovely color.” She slid her hand up his chest to his shoulder, her fingers curled slightly, as though she hungered to hold him close. He echoed that need as he gripped her waist.
“I want to know you, Joanna. I want to learn all your secrets.” Brock brushed the backs of his knuckles over her cheeks, and her lashes fluttered in response. His body burned for her in a way that made him unsteady, like he’d snuck a few too many sips of whiskey. A delicious shudder shot through him as he slowly pulled back the heavy blue curtain of the window and moved her behind it. Now they were shielded from the rest of the world, and it was only the two of them.
“What are we doing?” Joanna whispered.
“Learning each other, lass.” He pulled the curtain closed around them. They faced the glass of the window and could see the thick blossoms of the rhododendrons that crowded the windowpanes with bursts of lavender amid the green leaves. No one could see them from the garden outside, except perhaps his head, but not Joanna’s. They were safe in this private world.
“Do you like to ride?” Brock asked as he lifted one of her hands up, studying the blue veins that ran beneath her fair skin like lines on a map. He wanted to memorize the pattern, carve it into his mind because it was a part of her. His future wife.
“I do. I’m not particularly good, I suppose. Horses make me nervous if I ride alone, but if I’m with someone, I enjoy it.” She was touching his shoulder again, exploring, her fingers caressing the muscles beneath the shirt he wore.
“I like to ride as well.” Brock pressed his lips to her hand, against the entrancing pattern of those veins, and she trembled a little.
“And you read?” she asked.
He nodded. “Aye. Whenever possible. My mother loved books, as do I.”
“That’s good,” Joanna murmured before her eyes strayed to his lips again.
“I have more questions,” he promised. “But if I dinna kiss you right now, I may go mad.”
He gave her time to resist, to push him away. When instead she curled her arms around his neck, he lowered his lips to hers, feeling a flood of victory within him that would have made his warrior ancestors proud.
